


Christmas at Angel Investigations

by KiranInBlue



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiranInBlue/pseuds/KiranInBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets from the first two Christmases at Angel Investigations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas at Angel Investigations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowoswald](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=snowoswald).



Angel Investigations’ first Christmas was somewhat . . . unexpected.

It began on December 1st; Doyle and Angel arrived at the office together that morning, and when they pushed open the door, they found themselves greeted by the sight of what could only be characterized as a holiday disaster zone.

There were garlands draped along every available edge, and a few tacked directly to the wall in slanted lines; small trees rested upon the desk, filing cabinet, and coffee table, decorated with what appeared to be several yards of white lights; enormous paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling; and mounds of fake snow were pushed up against every wall.

“Uh,” Angel said blankly.

“Er,” Doyle agreed. He leaned back to glance at the door, checking that they’d gotten the right office.

Just then, the back door sprang open, and Cordelia bounced out. She was wearing a Santa hat and a close-cut red sweater dress. There appeared to be bits of tinsel in her hair.

“Morning!” she said cheerily, although there was a slightly stern set to her jaw. “ _You_ guys are late. We have a business to run, you know.”

“Er, yeah,” Angel replied. “Uh. Sorry. But . . . uh . . . what’s going on here?”

Cordelia frowned at him, then turned to fix the tape on a garland behind her. “What do you mean?”

“The, ah, holiday enthusiasm?” Doyle said pointedly. “It looks like Santa’s workshop blew up in here.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cordelia retorted. “There aren’t any toys in here.” Then, she paused. “Although, on second thought, maybe that’s not a bad idea. It would bring in a little nostalgia for childhood Christmases, or something like that.”

Angel shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Doyle’s metaphors aside, _why_ are we trying to bring in nostalgia?”

“For the clients, _duh_!”

“…Clients?”

“Yeah, you know, the people who _pay us_?” said Cordelia, with affected patience. “Everyone’s getting into the Christmas spirit, and if we seem excited, too, it’s going to remind them to be generous and giving! I’m thinking we could play some holiday carols while they write checks.”

Doyle and Angel exchanged a glance.

“I don’t know that everyone gets _that_ into Christmas,” Doyle said reasonably.

Cordelia paused for half a second, considering.

Then: “I totally need get some Hanukkah decorations!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe I forgot that!”

“Not exactly what I was going for . . .”

But Cordelia seemed to have already made up her mind. She scooped up her purse from the desk and pushed between Angel and Doyle into the hallway.

“I’ll just be out for a few minutes,” she said, glancing back at them with a stern expression. “If we get any clients, or if the phone rings, remember to tell them ‘happy holidays’.”

“Cordelia, I don’t think—“ Angel began, but she wasn’t listening.

“See you guys in a bit! Oh, and . . . “ She paused, and stared meaningfully at the doorframe above their heads.

Doyle and Angel looked up; hanging above them was a small bundle of white berries.

Immediately, they both leapt back, stumbling into each other in their haste to move out of the way. When they’d managed to scramble safely back into the hallway, Angel and Doyle exchanged sheepish half-grins. There was a faint, pink tinge to Doyle’s cheeks.

Cordelia snorted, then turned and strode away down the hall.

Angel and Doyle turned to watch her go.

“Well,” Angel said awkwardly.

“Always full of surprises, that one,” Doyle said. A small, fond smile twitched at his lips.

“Yeah.” Angel glanced back toward the office. His eyes rested on one of the small trees, considering. At the top of the little tree, an Angel Investigations business card was taped to the branch. “You know,” he said finally. “It _is_ kinda pretty.”

* * *

Christmas Eve at Caritas was certainly an unusual experience.

The bar was packed to the brim with spirited demons, vampires, and humans alike. Many customers were wearing Santa hats or felt reindeer antlers; there was one muscular and slimy demon in one corner sporting what looked like Christmas-themed lingerie. Tinsel hung from the doorways, and the whole bar was positively cheerful.

“I don’t understand,” Gunn said, as Lorne settled himself into the empty seat at their table. “Aren’t demons, like, allergic to Christianity or something? Why are you guys so festive anyway?”

“Well, that’s actually a very limited subset of the demonic population,” Lorne replied. “Besides, Christmas is mostly secular these days. You humans don’t even celebrate it in the right month anymore. Kinda ruins the whole aversion effect.”

“I still find myself bewildered at the appeal of a holiday about goodwill in the demon population,” Wesley muttered, watching a Pockla demon mournfully sing along to ‘ _O Christmas Tree’._

Cordelia, however, snorted, and took a long drink from her “Jingle Bell Martini”.

Wesley glanced at her. “…Yes?”

“’Holiday about goodwill’?” she echoed, when she’d set down her drink again. “ _Really_? Christmas is about materialism and presents!”

Wesley scowled. “Well, that’s a cynical view.”

“But an accurate one,” Lorne put in. “You would not _believe_ the kind of things the regulars bring me this time of year. Seem to think it’ll sway what I read off of them – bless their souls. Those that have them, anyway.” 

“Doesn’t work then?” Gunn asked.

“Come _on_ , my friend! While I certainly do appreciate a beautiful pinot noir or a Himalayan kitten, that’s not going to change your destiny!”

“Ah, well, I suppose we don’t have to give you this beautiful luxury cider from all of us at Angel Investigations, then . . .”

Lorne spluttered.

 

 

 


End file.
